by Elizabeth Lo
“Ok. So then…” I crouch in front of his face, with a tease in my voice. “It’s okay if I just ask questions that I can’t answer on my own? Like… Why you were so scared of one little pilot? Or why is your magic so weak? Or maybe I should ask you more about my eyes… Such as what would happen if I lost an eye? Or what happens to my bodies when I die? Or maybe…”
Only one of Sucre’s eyes open to look at me.
Stop pestering me, girl.
“But I just have so many questions. I can’t seem to stop asking…”
All right, all right, you little smartass. One question. This time, just one. Then let me nap in peace.
I pet his head, grinning.
“Then… Why can’t I just break the curse now? Couldn’t you just tell me already since you already seem to know?”
One question, girl, he grumbles. And to answer it… well, one, I don’t really know as much as you think I do. And two, you by yourself wouldn’t be enough to pull off the spell. You’ll need to use Fantastique’s Stone… and in the state you’re in right now, you wouldn’t be able to wield that either.
“What are you talking about?”
Sucre seems to sigh to himself, his entire body shuddering the forest. He’s just small enough to fit between the gaps in the trees, but he still has wood pressed up against his body on either side of him.
As I mentioned before, you’ll be dealing with such a wide-scale curse that the only thing in Galviton with enough magic energy to do it is Fantastique’s Stone. That stone that most of you humans seem to believe is a myth.
Oh, I remember hearing about it.
Hundreds of years ago, when the Galvitonian Imperial Forces were first formed during the Thyrmian-Ronum War (aka the War of Fire and Ice) by rebels from both sides, the Forces were the ones to end it by stepping in and defeating both countries at once under impossible conditions. Except… it’s said that it wasn’t actually the Forces themselves that ended the war; it was the First King.
Some people even suspect King Fantastique used this urban legend—now called “Fantastique’s Stone”—in order to pull off his incredible feat. But of course, he promptly died afterwards despite being thought of as “immortal,” and the story was never set in stone. I always found it a little hard to believe that he just picked up a stone and defeated two armies simultaneously.
I can assure you, Sucre says, reading me like a book again. It’s not a myth. You humans always underestimate the possibilities of magic.
“Well, I mean, in the first place, where would it get all that magic from?”
Sucre shuffles his feet.
I suppose your school didn’t specialize in magic, did it, he mutters. Anyway, he continues, not answering my question, curses are a lot easier to form then they are to break. You’ll have to obtain the Stone once you’re instructed on the curse-breaking theories.
I hope these really are theories and not just hypotheses.
“Is… there anything else you can tell me?”
No, he grunts, closing his eye again. It’s better someone else other than me tells you.
“Again… why?”
Let’s just say it’s for practicality reasons, your own stability, and because I’ve decided to take pity on you and your hermit life.
His piercing eye and a twitch of his ears and tail tell me to not ask anything more.
“Shall we… get going?” I say instead.
Can’t you let a nuagepanthère sleep, girl?
But then, Sucre thinks better of it and reluctantly moves into a crouch so I can climb on.
He unsteadily takes off since he’s probably still weak from yesterday due to the Regeneration and flight taking a toll on him, but he can’t really move very well in the woods, so we don’t have a choice but to fly. We soar low just over the tops of the trees, keeping an eye peeled for any sign of nearby civilization.
Fortunately, we find a town nearby, and Sucre holds out long enough to fly there in one piece. We arrive just outside of it, far enough out, so we remain unseen.
“You’re going to have to wait here,” I tell him. “Most people aren’t too fond of giant pink cats.”
He hisses at “cat” but obligingly makes himself comfortable in a bit of the forest floor spacious enough to not suffocate him.
Oh… by the way… I don’t care for the human modesty that much, but you might…
I glance down, the realization that parts of my clothes are missing dawning on me for the first time.
“Oh… Right…” Sighing, I tie the two sides of my ripped skirt together and start the trek to the town, conscious of the fact that I look like I’ve just survived a tornado.
I’m at least glad I’m back in the comfort of southern Galviton again. The walk would be calming if it wasn’t for my exhaustion and grumbling stomach. The leaves rustle from a gentle wind, and the air is relatively warm and friendly today. Up ahead, I can hear the sounds of town life slowly overpowering the rustle of nature I as get closer.
The town reminds me of my hometown a little bit. The houses are made of bricks and white stucco. Worn-down, cobbled roads, wide streets, and nice little grow beds scattered here and there. There’s a small comfort in seeing mundane activities again.
I spot a café on the corner of a block, and without realizing it, my feet have already wandered me in the direction of the tantalizing smells wafting from the door.
But before I can enter, a guy careens straight into me.
I don’t even notice what he’s doing. It’s his hair, although hidden by a newsboy cap and a hood, that catches my attention. If he’s a Frost, it’s not common to see someone of that family in a small town like this. Maybe my fuzzy brain is tricking me, but I swear his hair looks like it’s made of tin.
He picks himself up quickly and dashes off. A moment later, a red-haired girl comes rushing after him.
“Get that thief!” She yells while trying to run in a large, knee-length white dress with multiple layers of fabric and lace. But upon closer inspection, her dress probably isn’t as unwieldy as it looks, seeing how it isn’t actually restricting any of her movement.
“Um… Sir?” I call out weakly.
“Well don’t just stand there—try harder,” she says, crossing her arms. “Yes, you, the girl gawking at my dress.”
I flinch. But as I follow her finger pointing in the direction of the thief, I realize he’s heading straight for Sucre, who’s pink fur I can just barely make out in the distance.
Jerkily, I set into motion, Teleporting most of the way there (despite my headache’s protests) and tackling the poor guy to the ground by Teleporting onto his head.
He groans; I snatch the purse he stole and hop off him as soon as possible, intent on going back to the café.
The froo-froo girl comes trotting around the corner, a bright, elated smile on her face.
“Oh, thank you!” She looks like your typical rich Southern girl, dressed in the typical style just with extra everything.
The girl reaches down and grabs the purse from my hands as I sway and try to get up, leaning on a wall for support.
“Um, pardon me, miss, but do you need some assistance? Your face looks very pale… And your clothes are in… an atrocious state… Perhaps you would like some food? Yes, yes, you need food, don’t you? It would be my gift to you for helping me out.”
It’s almost too much of a coincidence; her eyes seem to follow me like a hawk.
“Um, no, no… I’m okay.”
“Oh, no… I couldn’t possibly abandon a fellow female on the street with a fashion disaster and a grumbling stomach. Come on.”
And without asking, she grabs my hand and leads me through the town like a lost child. We leave the man there on the ground, but in the corner of my eye, I can see him already dusting himself off.
Something about all this is just too easy.
“I’m Annabelle. Aroma, obviously. What’s your name?”
“Midnight. Thunder, unobviously.”
<
br /> She nods cheerfully. She looks about my age, maybe a little older.
“That’s a… cool name,” she comments.
“It was a family tradition to name members after things in the sky.”
“Was?”
“Was.”
“What are your other family members’ names?”
“My mother was a Frost, so her name was actually Marigold. My dad’s name was Pluto, and my brother… didn’t have a name.”
“Hmmm. I guess you guys didn’t follow that tradition very well.”
Actually, Black was supposed to be named “Neptune,” but he didn’t really like that name somehow. That experiment that happened to me to make my eyes and body this way? Well, I wasn’t the first undergo the experiment—Black was. Except, he turned out to be an Assembler. And like Sucre said, the Demon Eyes thing doesn’t work on Assemblers.
He was locked up by magicians for the first nine years of his life because he was considered a hazard. They raised him in an insane asylum environment. Except with cold metal walls and chains to replace the padded walls and white straitjackets of normal institutions.
“This is your new brother, Ruin,” they had told me. Felicius Harvey, Black’s jailer and my tormentor, watched everything from the back.
“That’s not a nice name,” innocent little me said.
Black was strapped to a wheelchair, long black hair like a curtain over his face. Even then, he had to wear a blindfold over his eyes due to other peoples’ paranoia. For little five-year-old me, seeing pitch black hair was like seeing a green sky for the first time.
I remember vividly that when I first saw him, there were scars on his arm from tubes being inserted and removed countless times, red, raw marks all over his skin, and his body so skinny and frail you could count every bone beneath the pallid skin. He had this dead look in his eyes for the longest of times because he never learned how to use them.
“…the weather is sunny…” he said, surprising everyone. “The dog runs… a, aardvark, abandon, abandoned, abdomen, abduct, abide, ability, able…” he rattles on in a monotonous drone, moving down the alphabet. “…currency, current, curriculum, curry, curse…”
They had taught Black how to speak, but he had never actually had a real conversation with anyone. Everyone was scared of him, but despite the strange situation, I decided at that moment that I would be good friends with him.
When I took off his blindfold, and his dazed eyes met mine, he looked strangely at peace.
“Oh, I know. I’m going to call you ‘Black.’ Like your hair!”
“I don’t—”
“Black it is!”
I still remember that moment to this day. After all, that was the very first time I ever saw Black smile.
“The Demon Siblings made an unbreakable bond on that fateful day. No one can ever defeat them. Now they’re off to save another day.” Or… so my later eight-year-old self would say.
I miss those days…when I could imagine myself as the hero and indulge in the illusion that I could make everyone smile.
Without realizing, I sigh out loud.
“You were so cool when you took off running after that thief! You should feel proud,” this Annabelle person says suddenly. I didn’t even realize she was still talking. “Is it because you’re hungry? You kind of look sickly right now…”
I smile and nod along. She reminds me a lot of Marcie. And with her pale skin and hair the color of ripe hawthorn berries, she’s reminiscent of a strawberry shortcake.
I had expected us to go to some restaurant, but Annabelle instead leads us to a carriage on the outskirts of town.
“Um, where are we going?”
“Oh! You didn’t know? My house is just around the bend! My chef, Burton, is incredibly skilled. Plus, you’ll get to meet someone important.”
“Oh. Ok…?”
Then what was she doing here in the first place?
Everything about her spells, “I’m rich.” But it’s “rich” in the way a poor person would expect a rich person to act. Flaunting without a care in the world.
Am I getting trafficked?
I’m still a little shaky from the take-down in town, but I still reach out to Sucre. Telepathic communication with Sucre isn’t stressful as long as there isn’t much distance.
Sucre, are you okay?
Fine as I’ll ever be, is his gruff reply.
I think you should follow us.
You don’t have to tell me.
And the carriage takes off.
“So Midnight, what do you do? You seem like you should be in school? What’s it like? I was privately tutored, you see.”
Annabelle giggles. She laughs at almost everything I say. I could tell her that I hate her dress, and she would still giggle away. It’s definitely an act of ignorance; I sense cunning lying underneath.
“I dropped out… actually.”
“Ah, okay. Well… it’s not for everyone. But they try to get everyone to do it anyway, isn’t that right?”
At this, I smile a little bit, but otherwise, stay silent. I don’t have to talk much. She’ll do it for the both of us.
“Also, Midnight, did you know that your hair is such a pretty color? I’ve never seen hair like that before. It’s so shiny.”
“Thanks…?”
“I’m so jealous—my hair is such a boring color. You have such a unique look… Metallic hair, fuchsia eyes… You really stand out, you know.”
“Uh-huh… Are we there yet?”
“Hmmm…” She looks out the window. “I’m not quite sure.”
Like I thought. There’s something going on here.
I look out of the window, too, trying to find a landmark to hold on to so that I know how to get back. But all of the trees look the same, and the forest doesn’t seem to end. The carriage keeps rocking back and forth and swaying with every turn.
Something has been building up this entire ride. I feel the tension of magic tingling the air, building up like someone is preparing for a big spell.
Annabelle doesn’t seem to notice and continues chattering away at high speeds trying to learn about “poor people’s life.” It’s amusing, really. Nothing more.
She could’ve put on a better act than this. But if it’s this bad, I suppose her goal isn’t to trick me, but just to confuse me so I can’t get a grasp on who she is. Which then makes me wonder why she’s putting on an act in the first place.
“I’m sorry, Annabelle,” I say, shifting in my seat. “I… actually don’t want to take too much of your time. Your thanks was already enough. I think I’ll get off here…”
Her smile widens.
And then suddenly, the scenery outside changes. The road isn’t bumpy anymore—paved probably—and the trees have suddenly gotten thicker. Up ahead there’s a magnificent mansion made of red clay with a roof that could almost be mistaken for gold.
Someone has Teleported us. But Annabelle continues talking and gossiping as if nothing happened.
This whole thing was planned.
I reach for Sucre.
You there?
Yes. I caught the Teleport just in time.
Where are we? I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
“Annabelle,” I say, wiping the um’s and pauses from my voice. “Please explain what just happened and where we are.”
It only takes a split second for Annie’s sweet face to change to a smirk and for her to throw me down and pin me to the floor of the carriage.
“Well…” she says, meeting my eyes suddenly in a way that makes me freeze. “Looks like you are the right person… Did you like my rich-girl acting? Quite obnoxious, I’d say. Anyway… Midnight, I’m sorry to do this to you…” She speaks in a tone dripping with a seriousness that only makes me struggle even harder against her grip.
Something strikes the back of my neck, and blue blobs dot my blurring vision as my hands start to become limp.
“We aren’t very good with visitors, you kn
ow? … secrets and stuff… have to do this…” Her voice bobs in and out of coherence and soon fades away completely.
Distantly, I hear the carriage door open. A calm voice talks to her, and they say things back and forth until her hold on me is released, and then it’s just me panting and coughing until I become lightheaded and fully pass out from fatigue.
We’re here! Sucre chimes cheerily into my head.
Chapter Thirteen
Midnight
The room comes into focus. A vast expanse of elaborately carved wood above me says the first hello while airy, white silk blowing softly next to my face tickles my cheek. I feel like I’m sitting on a cloud. Voices float near my head—cold and detached. Maybe I’m dead and the spirits are contemplating throwing me out of the heavens.
The wind is warm here compared to that crisp wind that’s blowing as I sleep in the cave with military boxes just a few feet away from my head. There’s a cold cloth on my forehead now as a stark contrast to the rest my feverish body. I feel like I’m on fire. Everything is hot… but perhaps that’s because I’m smothered under a mountain of unfamiliar sheets and blankets.
I continue to pretend to be asleep as I wait until the muttering people exit my room. A familiar voice is speaking across the room to another, more familiar, voice—Annabelle and…?
They finally exit after what seems like a few minutes, and I breathe a sigh a relief, allowing myself to finally look around. There’s a pitcher of water and an empty glass on a nightstand next to the ornate bed that I appear to be laying in. And beyond that…
Beautifully finished mahogany wood, intricately designed cream wallpapers meticulously hung on the walls, fancifully decorated, finely crafted furniture, and rich, burgundy carpet—I feel like I’ve stepped into the wrong world.
From the looks of it, only a couple of hours have passed.
I’m still wearing a loose white button-up, and my hair is actually smoother than I last remembered despite me sleeping in a bed. Underneath, the edge of my black skirt brushes my knees like it used to. Someone… no, an Assembler—and a skilled one at that—has repaired my clothes.